Piggyback
by Surplus Imagination
Summary: How do you get a 185 pound injured man out of the forest when he won't cooperate and will never, ever shut up?
1. Twenty Miles Out

_Disclaimer :__ Sam and Dean Winchester and all of Supernatural isn't mine. I'm only borrowing them temporarily. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_A/N: This silly piece has been bouncing around my computer for way too long. In honor of tonight's premier, I thought I'd toss out the first part. I hope it lightens your day._

Piggy Back

"I'm gonna have to carry you."

"Over your dead body."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. FIRST, if I was dead, I couldn't carry you anyway. And SECOND, if you kill me, you are going to sit here and rot until….well, you ROT!"

"Rotting is at least dignified."

"That does it!" And with that, Sam leaned over, grasped his brother's arm with an iron grip and hoisted the protesting man up into a rough fireman's carry. Dean screamed in anger, and not a little pain, while Sam bounced him slightly up and down to settle the 185 pounds of weight across his shoulders, clutching Dean's left arm and undamaged left leg. Dean's right leg was a mass of mangled wounds, tightly bound in strips of Sam's green flannel shirt. Blood welled through the cloth in a dozen spots and oozed sluggishly down toward the ground.

They had been arguing for the better part of an hour in the hot Florida sunshine, as Dean attempted to hobble one-legged back to the car. Apalachicola National Forest was not a place of easy breezes and palm tree studded beaches. It was mostly thick palmetto scrub. Half the plants wielded wicked thorns, the other half housed a multitude of stinging, or biting insects. Vines and gnarled roots covered the rutted and low rolling terrain. In short, it wasn't a place to 'hobble'

The hour of arguing was accompanied by a dozen foot snarls on vines, two face-plants from tripping on roots and one frantic fire ant stamping when the branch Dean used as a crutch sank six inches into a fire ant mound and became mired. The enraged insects swarmed up the wood and covered half of Dean's arm before they realized what had happened. Both boys were peppered with angry bites before they got clear of the bugs. At the end of the hour, Dean had sunk in exhaustion to sit on a half-rotten, mossy log casually flicking off spiders lodged in the wood. They had covered no more than a half mile in that hour.

Sam had paced back and forth, raging against the situation. _It had to be nearly 100 degrees and 1,000% humidity. Death Valley was cooler than this place! Mothmen didn't really exist. Or Skunk Apes. Or any other stupid-ass creature Dean had come up with as a sorry excuse for a hunt. Didn't Dean realize that not only was his leg mangled from the rusty metal of that animal trap, but his leg was probably broken as well? Maybe the bone was crushed! Hell, he'd probably have to amputate the damn thing later using only a pocket knife and string. And did he mention that it was scalding hot out here?_ Sam raged on and on scratching furiously at the white pimpled fire ant bites on the back of his hand and swatting mosquitoes.

After one particularly nasty slap against his neck, Sam grimaced that the blood-smeared insect goo on his palm, wiped the mess off on his leg, declared his intent and hoisted Dean roughly up. Fury drove his strength to new heights, as Sam stormed through the woods toward where the Impala was stashed, ten or more miles away.

It was actually more like twenty.

For the first full five minutes of the trek, Dean could do nothing more, from his rather upside down position, than cling Sam's torso and swear. Creatively. Pointedly. Vigorously. Body parts were threatened in meticulous detail. Still Sam strode on.

The next five minutes were consumed with evil little paybacks drawn from memory of their childhood and teenage years. First, Dean tried to jam a knuckle into Sam's backbone and run it up and down the spine. Unfortunately, Sam's tremendous stride made steady pressure difficult, not to mention impossible when Sam ran Dean's head through a patch of really tall weeds on purpose.

Then Dean jabbed the fingers of his free hand into Sam's armpit from behind groping to find the one spot that ought to have his brother writhing in tickle-agony. Sam merely clutched his arm to his side so hard that after a minute of pressure, Dean's fingers started to go numb. And Sam's armpit was really, really sweaty. Grossed out, Dean pried his digits back wiping them off on Sam's shirt.

That's when he noticed it. Tired blue boxers were peaking out of back of Sam's jeans. Using whatever leverage against Sam's iron grip holding him on his shoulder, Dean grasped a handful of cloth and yanked. Hard. It was the mother of all wedgies.

With a snarl, Sam stopped abruptly, managed to transfer his grip on Dean's arm and leg to one hand and with lightning speed and accuracy, reached up over his shoulder to grasp the back of Dean's own pants and pulled just as hard. Twice. Dean gasped in response stunned by the combo wedgies and shoulder in his groin. The sensation was enough make him stop thinking about the pain in his leg. Sam quickly adjusted his own pants and moved forward again, muttering under his breath.

Dean's head bounced in time with Sam's steps. He was really reaching his limit. He hurt, he couldn't manage to unwedge his own boxers, and now all his blood was rushing to his head making him feel sick.

"Sam"

The ground continued to rush past.

"Sam"

Cicadas sang a storm of music in the dense thicket.

"Sam"

More palmettos. More blackberries. More tall grass.

"Sam"

Dean wondered if he could find enough blackberries to make a pie. He loved pie. His leg hurt and he deserved pie, never mind that he had never made a blackberry pie before. Or had an oven. Maybe he would just buy a blackberry pie. He wouldn't let Sam have any.

"Sam"

Oh look, a rabbit.

"Sam. I'm going to be sick."

More palmettos. Was that a snake?

"Really Sam, one more step and I'm going to puke right down your leg."

Then Dean realized that he meant it. He was going to be sick. The ground moved queasily below him.

"Sammy." Dean wheezed. "Please."

The motion stopped. The world twisted and turned and suddenly he was staring at blue skies peaking through tall pines. Sam's sweat-streaked and worried face came into focus. His brother was panting from exertion and the heat. Dean could count five mosquito bites on Sam's cheeks.

"Dean? You ok?"

A warm, plastic bottle of water appeared in front of his face. Dean drank gratefully, wishing it was cold. "Thanks." Slowly his stomach settled as he sipped. "That's better."

Sam heaved a sigh and plopped down next to him. He accepted the overly warm water with a similar grimace. Sam stank, but Dean didn't mind. Sam took a sip of water and passed back the bottle.

Dean took his own sip. "You win." He passed the bottle again.

"What?" Sam drank again.

"You heard me. You win. I'll let you carry me, just so long as I'm upright. Damn leg is killing me." Levering himself up on one elbow, Dean took back the bottle, finished it off and looked critically at his leg. He wondered idly if it really was broken. Sure hurt enough. Broken would suck.

Sam took the empty bottle and crammed it in his light backpack. Dean could see that there were two more full bottles in there and a pulverized sleeve of saltines. Fat, round peanut M&Ms rolled in the bottom freely. The bag must have burst. He reached in and wrangled up a handful of candies before Sam zipped the bag shut. Sharing half, both brothers crunched in silence. Sam looked thoughtful. Dean dreaded the outcome.

"Piggyback." Sam said, scratching at his face.

"Excuse me?" Dean replied incredulously. "And stop scratching. You know that only makes the itching worse."

Sam rolled his eyes, but left the bites alone. For a minute. "I'm gonna have to carry you piggy-back."

"Piggyback?"

"Piggyback. As in you're the piggy and I carry you on my back."

"What are we? Five?"

"You're five!"

"Real mature there, Samatha."

"What's your problem? It's just a name."

"A lame, girly name! I want something more...manly."

"Fine. Manly it is. Back to the fireman's carry!"

"No. Sam, no!" Dean shuddered. " And leave those bites the hell alone! Do you want craters in your face!"

"You have craters in your face!"

"You wished you had my face!"

"Ow! Why'd you slap me?"

"I told you to quit scratching! Now you are making me want to scratch."

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

Both brothers glared at each other, mosquitoes buzzing in their ears. Nearby, a red rat snake slithered in the weeds, capturing both their attention. They watched for several minutes as it smoothly disappeared into the scrub.

"We'll probably die of snake-bite long before we make it back." Dean took the backpack and settled it on his own back.

"Don't be stupid. That wasn't a venomous snake. It didn't have a triangular shaped head." Sam climbed to his feet, extending one hand to Dean.

Dean took the proffered hand and carefully hoisted himself up onto his good leg with a grunt. "Not all poisonous snakes have those," he huffed. "Could be deadly."

Sam took Dean's arm on his good side and shouldered it. Carefully, he helped his brother hop over to the nearest pine to brace against, agilely avoiding another ant mound. "I don't know if that snake is poisonous, but it's definitely not venomous. Here, I'll crouch down for you. Can you jump at all?" Sam waited for Dean's nod before turning around to crouch in front of his brother.

"Lower, Sasquatch."

Sam crouched some more.

"Jeeze, could you not be so tall!"

He dropped another inch.

"Planes can fly lower than you are getting. Come on, Sam!"

Sam dropped another couple of inches. His knees both cracked loudly as Sam swore a very bad word.

"You look like a giant toad." With that Dean heaved himself up and onto Sam's broad back.

In his mind, Dean just knew he had leapt two, maybe three feet. Plenty of height to climb on his little brother's back. Graceful as a gazelle.

What really happened was he lurched up a couple of inches, just enough to clutch at Sam's shoulders and wrap his legs around his brother's very narrow hips as the man stood. It was like wrapping around a fire station pole. There was only one way from there, down.

And down he went. Slowly, painfully, and with great embarrassment, Dean slid down his brother's long body until he thumped back onto the ground. Unfortunately for the both of them, Dean's face ended up right in Sam's...

"Dude!"

Sam leapt forward with a what-the-hell expression on his face, bumping Dean's bad leg on the way. Dean gasped in pain and clutched at his leg

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry..." Sam trailed off gingerly peeling back the bloody bandages. He hissed in sympathy at Dean's pained grunt. The gashes were inflamed, but not bleeding. The whole mess really needed a thorough cleaning. Sam mentally checked Dean's vaccination records for the last tetanus shot. Back at Stanford, a pysch professor once described Sam's way of remember things as having a mental filing cabinet. She said Sam had nearly an eidetic memory. But instead of just remember a visual imprint, Sam had a curious combination of sight and smell.

"2001," Sam muttered.

"2001, what?" Dean gritted, slapping Sam's hands away.

"Your last tetanus shot. Looks like you are getting another hit in the ass." Sam shifted back on his haunches. He had to find a better way to get Dean on his back. Maybe if he got on all fours.

"You're going to get hit in the ass! No one is touching my ass! It's a needle free zone."

Sam just stared.

"I'm serious, Sam. No shots."

Sam continued to stare unblinking, a cloud of gnats forming around his head. Dean stared back hoping against hope that the gnats wouldn't find him, too. Sam was silently willing the gnats to attack Dean. In the end, they both lost. In seconds, both brothers had gnats swimming in their eyes. Sam won the argument.

"Lock-jaw," Sam sneered, one eye twitching. One breath later, "Cheeseburgers."

"Argh! Fine! Fine, I'll get the damned shot." Dean tore his eyes away in defeat, rubbing furiously. "I hate Florida. Love cheeseburgers, but hate Florida."

Sam laughed and pulled himself to his feet, offering a steadying hand to Dean. "That's not what you said last weekend on St George Island. I thought you wanted to move there, retire and watch bikini babes all day." Privately, Sam loved the pure beauty of the white sand beaches and mounds of sea oats, so different from the California beaches he frequented with Jess.

"Well, I've changed my mind," Dean grumbled hoping a slow turn around. "Here, help me up on this log. Maybe that'll help."

Sam looked at the log dubiously, wondering if it would hold his brother's weight. With a shrug, maneuvered Dean over to the least decomposed section and practically lifted him up onto the log. A small, green lizard darted away.

Dean clutched Sam's shoulder for balance as he carefully hopped on his good leg. After settling a minute, he gave a nod to Sam, who slowly turned, crouched and presented his back.

"Here goes nothing..."

With that, Dean firmly gripped his brother's shoulders and pulled Sam a little back toward himself. Sam grunted and obliged by inching back. Dean lifted his bad leg and carefully attempted to wrap it around his brother's slim hip. Sam grabbed firmly under the thigh and held it steady. So far, so good.

"On three." Dean gave a nod, wiping the sweat off his forehead with him arm.

"One." Sam braced himself.

"Two." Dean flexed his good leg for the launch.

"Three."

The science behind what happened next was easy to calculate in the aftermath. The resultant downwards force in pounds per square inch of a 185 pound man leaping with one leg far exceeded the structural integrity of one rotting pine log, riddled with termites and other creepy crawlies.

Dean leapt. The log crumbled. Instead of pulling the rest of his body onto Sam's back, Dean instead slammed awkwardly with said pounds per square inch, directly into the small of Sam's back, causing a domino effect. Sam shot forward while still clutching Dean's leg, his feet snarled in the log debris.

And down they went.

_tbc..._

_A/N My teenage daughter's favorite come-back is to simply shoot back the same comment as a snark. I had imagined that Dean would do the same to an exasperated Sam._

_"Any thoughts? I'd love to hear from you :) Surplus_


	2. Still 10 Miles Out

_Disclaimer :__ Sam and Dean Winchester and all of Supernatural aren't mine. I'm only borrowing them temporarily. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_A/N: The fun in Florida continues. I hope you enjoy _

_Chapter 2_

_Still 10 Miles Out_

"Damn. I have pine sap on my hands."

Sam lay in a world of hurt. In that eon-long, two seconds it took to hit the ground, Sam's weird brain somehow managed to simultaneously register that his feet were hopelessly tangled in the tree roots, minutely change his downward plunge to shield his brother's bad leg from impact, and visually identify three hard pine cones, a clump of nettles and one really mossy stick all directly in his trajectory. Of course, his big body hit everything. Hard. With his 185 pound brother riding him like a frickin' pony.

"I hate pine sap. It never comes off."

Sam tried to remember how to breathe while slowly turning his head to look at his brother. Somehow, Dean managed to navigate the fall without a hair out of place. He was kneeling mostly upright on his good leg, while his bad leg was carefully cradled in Sam's arms. Preoccupied with stickiness, Dean kept touching his palms together in a demented version of patty-cake. Noticing Sam staring at him, Dean reached over and instead starting patting his sticky hands on either side of Sam's face. The feeling was disgusting.

"Breathe, Sammy. Breathe," Dean urged with a crooked grin. Each tacky pat was harder than the last. He was having way too much fun. On the fourth slap, Sam took in a diminutive, gasping breath and tossed Dean to one side. Dean laughed, as he rolled free.

"Jerk," Sam kinda wheezed out, as he attempted to roll onto his back. His big feet were still mired by the roots, preventing him from doing more than rolling back and forth across the prickly pine cones. Sam could feel them embed painfully in his flesh, making his chest tighten further.

"Seriously, Sam. Breathe! You are starting to turn purple."

Sam snarled breathlessly as he tried to thrash his feet free, ignoring the goring of the pine cones. He felt his brother brace his back and help him sit up.

"Are you choking, or something?" Dean asked worriedly.

Before Sam could answer, Dean started pounding on his back. It really stung, but seemed to do the trick. Sam started breathing again in loud, whooping coughs. Eyes watering and lungs burning, Sam waved his brother off and attempted to get control of his air.

"Stop," he rasped. "Just got the wind knocked outta me." He took one more loud hack and settled down. "You ok?"

Dean shrugged and gestured with his hands. "Got pine sap."

"Yeah, I got that. Keep your hands to yourself. I think there's some turpentine in the Impala."

Sam sighed leaning forward to inspect his ankles. His struggle with the roots had rubbed the skin raw above his boot top. Sam squashed a wayward fire ant climbing through his leg hair. He hoped he wasn't sitting on a mound. Feeling Dean try to wipe his sticky hands on the back of Sam's shirt, Sam ungraciously hoped that Dean was.

"Dude. You growing pine cones, or what?" Dean asked inspecting his brother's side. He lifted Sam's dirty shirt and fingered the long scrapes, picking out bits still stuck. Sam hissed and slapped at his hands. Undeterred, Dean kept picking until the area was clear. "Quit being such a baby."

"Easy for you to say, you weren't on the bottom." Sam grumbled and started untying his boots.

"You did not just say that. Gross," Dean huffed, picking wood bits out of the shirt itself.

"Say what?" Sam gave his left foot a huge tug and pulled his foot free of the boot. Swampy, foot odor wafted out. Grimacing at the smell, he turned his attention to his right foot.

"You know what." Dean rooted around inside Sam's shirt for more debris.

"No, I don't. What's gross?" Sam managed to get his right foot out with a squelch. The friction of the pull left his sock behind. With a sigh, Sam unwedged his now empty boots, pulling out the sweat-soaked sock.

"You're gross, that's what." Dean gave an 'aha' sound and produced a wad of Spanish moss tangled in a few mossy twigs from up near Sam's neckline. "How the heck did you manage to ram that up your shirt?"

"Saving your ass, that's how. Now, what did you mean?" Freed, Sam shifted his weight around and sat cross-legged facing his brother. He absently scratched at the mosquitoes bites on his face, a curious look on his face.

Dean tossed the moss aside and gingerly moved his bad leg to a more comfortable position. It looked like the bleeding had stopped for now. No fresh blood decorated the outside of the makeshift bandages.

"You said you were on the bottom," Dean said, peeking under the edges seeing raw, angry flesh. Not good.

"So?" It was Sam's turn to slap away Dean's hands. "Quit. You'll get it infected."

"Like there's any way in hell it's not already infected," Dean groused. "Bottom, Sam. Bottom."

Sam just stared.

"You know, bottom?" Dean asked, making rude gestures with hands. This time, the sap stickiness came in handy for illustrations.

"That's just gross," Sam said, leaning away. "You have a dirty mind."

"You have a dirty mind!"

"Says the man who just copped a feel up my shirt!"

"I did not 'cop a feel'! You're gross!"

"I guess you're right." With that, Sam leaned over and stuffed his dirty sock right in Dean's face. It made a wet noise as it landed. Dean gave a muffled scream and scrambled backward as best he could, dislodging the sock. He scooted back a couple of feet rubbing furiously at his mouth and nose. Sam barked out a laugh.

"Dammit, Sam. That was a low blow. Could you be anymore disgusting?"

"Uh, Dean."

"What?" Dean pulled up the bottom of his shirt to rub at his face. Sam's stink seemed to be everywhere. Unbelievably, his eyes were burning from it.

"You're sitting in poison ivy."

"Son-of-a-bitch!"

Dean looked down, and sure enough, he was surrounded by shiny, three leafed plants. He was doomed. He'd be covered in itchy rash by morning. "This is your fault," he said, pointing one accusing finger.

"Suppose it is," Sam chuckled, putting on his boots. Lacing the quickly, Sam dug around in his backpack and pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. "Here. Maybe you can try not to spread it around."

Sam heaved his bulk up to his feet and Dean scrubbed his sticky hands with the liquid. If this didn't work, he had every intention on 'coping another feel' on every exposed surface on Sam's skin. Let him laugh if he broke out in a rash, too. _Ha ha, hardy ha ha. _

Pulling out the second to last water bottle, Sam took a drink and handed the bottle to Dean. "You need to stay hydrated." Dean had nothing snide to say to that one. He was really thirsty. Dean gulped the rest down.

"It's getting late, we need to get back and get you to a doctor." Sam took the empty back and zipped up the pack, handing the pack to Dean. "I don't want to be wandering around here in the dark."

"No arguments here. Got any bright ideas?"

"Yep."

With that, Sam dropped to the ground and got on all fours. "Climb on up, Hop-a-long."

"I always liked Roy Rogers better." Dean slung the backpack across his shoulders and painfully climbed to his feet. "That would make you Trigger." Gripping Sam's shoulder, Dean carefully slung his bad leg over Sam's back and slid into place. "Yippee-ki-yay." Dean gave Sam a friendly thump. "Giddy up."

Sam took a deep breath, and started to stand. He lurched to his feet, one leg at a time. He also managed to grip Dean's legs and hold him in place. Sam's back cracked and his knees popped as he straightened. Dean clung on as best he could. Breathing hard, Sam eventually got completely upright. Lacing his fingers together behind his back, he made a place for Dean to sit on, taking his brother's weight.

"If you make one more 'bottom' comment, I'm gonna drop you on your ass," Sam grunted.

"Never crossed my mind," Dead lied, biting back just that comment. It felt really strange sitting on Sam's hands. Dean wondered if he could conjure up a little gas on demand. Considering the distance it was to the ground, Dean decided that was probably a bad idea.

Sam gave a nod and started forward in the general direction back to the car. It took all of his concentration to pick his footing carefully and keep his brother on his back. After a few minutes of settling positions, Sam strode strongly forward, carrying his brother with confidence.

It didn't take very long for Dean to get bored from his piggy back position. Once you've seen one pine tree, you've seen them all. He started counting them, but gave up after hitting fifty. It wasn't much fun. Sam's stride was way too bouncy for him to take a nap, not that was a good idea anyway. He really only had one option.

"Are we there yet?"

No answer.

"How about now?"

No answer. The biggest, brown grasshopper that Dean had ever seen landed in Sam's hair. Dean, of course, flicked it off, purposely thumping the top of Sam's ear.

"Ow! Quit it!"

"Sorry, bro. It was a hornet. Didn't want you to get stung," Dean said with a smile. "Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?" Dean flavored the line with a nasal sound.

"No." Sam mimicked the nasal sound.

"Are we there yet?" This time it was a New York accent.

"Naw. 'Course not." Bronx this time.

"Are we there yet?" Overdone, Texan twang.

"Heck no, Billy-Bob."

"Are we, like, there yet?" Falsetto, Valley-girl.

"Dude, that sounded practiced. You use that voice for phone sex?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Sam just snorted a laugh and strode on. Around them, the Florida sunshine baked the very air into a living furnace. Sam was sweating so much that Dean was having trouble hanging onto his shoulders. His arms were screaming with the effort to take some of his weight off Sam's hands.

"How are you doing there, Sammy?"

"I'll live. Could you stop squirming around?"

"Can't help it. It's hot, my leg is on fire, you smell epically bad and your fingers are way too close to the family jewels."

Sam growled unintelligibly and came to an abrupt stop. Dean held his breath while Sam repositioned his fingers deftly, while giving him a couple lurching bounces in the air. Secretly, Dean was impressed that Sam managed that without tossing his complaining self onto the ground. His brother was the strongest person he knew. Literally.

"Thanks, Sam. That's better."

Sam gave a nod and strode on. On and on and on through the pine trees, palmettos, blackberry briars, kudzu and tall, brown grass. It was all monotonously the same. Dean sighed.

"What's the matter," Sam grunted, carefully stepping over a thin, fallen pine.

"Bored."

"Must be nice," Sam grouched, plowing through a patch of briars.

"It's not like I'm having a relaxing ride up here."

"Bitch bitch bitch."

'Hey! That's my line!"

"Sorry. Jerk jerk jerk." Sam's nose itched something terrible. He stopped a moment to rub it on his arm. "Can't reach the itch," he mumbled.

"Doesn't have the same ring to it, huh?" Dean peeling one arm free and obligingly scratched the side of Sam's nose. Grimacing, Dean wiped his fingers on Sam's shirt. The pair continued.

Sigh.

"I'm bored."

"And I'm gonna dump you in the next sinkhole!" Sam threatened.

"What exactly is a sinkhole? Is it a sink, or is it a hole?"

"Shut up, Dean."

Sigh.

Sigh.

Sigh.

"Argh! Could you just shut the hell up! This is hard enough without your whining."

"I'm bored."

"Well, play a game, or something."

"Fine. I spy, with my own little eye, something… brown."

"Pine tree."

"Right you are. Here's another one. I spy, with my own little eye, something….. brown."

"Dirt."

"Wrong. Pine tree, 'cause that's all I see." Dean sighed.

Sam gave a snort, blowing off droplets of sweat. "How about a song? You like to sing."

Dean thought about it for a moment, then broke into a wide grin before launching. On the second line, Sam joined in.

"_Flintstones, meet the Flintstones. They're a modern, stone-age family._

_From the, town of Bedrock. They're a page right outta of history._

_Let's ride, with the family down the street._

_Through the, courtesy of Fred's two feet._

_When you're, with the Flintstones_

_Have a yabba, dabba, doo time_

_A dabba, doo time _

_We'll have a gay, ole time!"_

"_Wilma! I'm home!"_

tbc..

_AN: I'll probably finish this up in the next chapter, unless Sam can find that sinkhole. Ha! Thanks for reading (and reviewing!) Surplus_


	3. Five Miles and Counting

_**Disclaimer: **__See chapter one. This is all for fun, no profit intended. _

_AN: If you haven't guessed already, I'm a Floridian. I lot of what I've written is based on personal experiences and a hilarious story from my brother's Air Force years. It involves collecting reptiles in the Arizona desert, a highway and some wayward tumbleweeds. Enjoy__ :)_

Five Miles and Counting

"Plop plop, fizz fizz; oh what a relief it is..."

And Sam walked on.

"Red Robin...yum!"

Sweat dripped, muscles burned and still Sam walked on.

"My bologna has a first name, it' R..."

Sam really wished Dean would stop singing about food. His stomach growled with deafening protest. And Sam walked on.

"Two all-beef-patties-special-sauce-lettuce-cheese-pickles-onions on a sesame seed bun."

Sam seriously wondered if his eardrums were going to spontaneously combust from listening to Dean butcher every advertising jingle he had heard in the last 20 years. Still Sam walked on.

"Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Meyer wiener.."

Sam was just about at the end of his rope. Not only were his legs screaming from the strain and his hands were numb from the weight of Dean's ass, but his shoulders felt like they were slowly dislocating with every step. He needed a break. Sam stopped. Pretty abruptly, in fact.

With a soul-felt sigh, he crouched lower and lower and lower, ignoring Dean's 'beep beep beep beep beep' imitation of a forklift warning sound, until he felt Dean slide off to stand on the pine straw covered soil.

"Where did the swamp come from?" Dean asked, his voice obviously overused from all the singing. Dean carefully kept weight off his bad leg, balanced by keeping one hand on Sam's back. It didn't take long for him to realize that Sam wasn't standing back up.

"Sam?" Dean patted Sam's sweat back, trying to get his attention. Sam responded by bracing his arms on his knees and blowing hard.

"Sammy? You okay?"

"I gotta sit a minute." came a strained reply.

Dean helpfully looked around and noted a large, fallen log about thirty feet away. He also noticed a tangle of blackberry briars, just to the side of the log. Plump blackberries weighed down the prickly vines, creating a low shower of fruit. Dean gave an approving whistle.

"Would you look at that? Pie in the making. Let's go sit over there." Dean gave Sam's back a solid thump and started hobbling slowly over to the log.

Sam tried to stand up. He really did. His knees had other ideas as they locked completely up. Then his legs joined in the rebellion by threatening to buckle. Crampy pains vetoed upward movement.

"I think I'm going to sit right here."

With that, Sam tipped back on his heels and gave into gravity. He landed with a soft plop and a deep sigh of relief. That felt so good, he decided to go all the way down. Sam uncurled his back, one vertebra at a time until he was laying completely flat on the pine straw and wiry grass.

Sam closed his eyes in bliss, allowing the sun to bake down on his face with unrelenting heat. At that moment, he didn't care if he got sun burnt. He could care less if a host of bugs feasted on his flesh. All he cared about was his current lack of movement. He reveled in being still.

Moisture permeated his clothes from the slightly soggy ground. Somewhere in the back of his exhausted mind, Sam connected the wetness with Dean's question about a swamp. Hadn't they been hiked in high, pine scrub all day? Why was the ground wet?

_grrrrrroooooowwwwwwwwwllllll lllll_

Sam's ears perked up at the deep, resonant sound. It was kinda like a cross between a bullfrog and the rumble of heavy pipes on a Harley Davidson chopper. His brain starting processing the sensory input when he heard -

"Oh, shit."

Aches and pains forgotten, Sam sat straight up, blinking the sun glare out of his eyes. Dean was standing motionless, about ten feet in front of him. Everything about his brother screamed danger. Sam followed the direction of his brother's eyes to see the 'log' Dean was headed toward, stand up and move. All fifteen feet of it!

"Oh, shit," Sam repeated, eyes wide.

Twenty feet in front of Dean, was an alligator. _Alligator mississipiensis,_ his unhelpful mind offered. A fifteen foot, agitated bull alligator to be exact. A huge, cold-blooded monster. Sam's jaw dropped as the reptile made another rumbling sound and lurched to its feet. The massive creature easily stood three feet at the shoulder.

"Shit, Sammy. Do you think I look like lunch to it?" Dean asked quietly.

"You probably smell like lunch," Sam replied worriedly, thinking of the blood decorating Dean's leg. Facts and figures flew through his mind. Alligators were rarely aggressive unless provoked. They tended to be afraid of humans. For short distances, they could run faster than humans. A speedy escape might not be possible, especially with Dean's leg. Sam gave the 'gator a calculated gaze. This one was not a happy. "Can you backup, slowly?"

Dean's first attempt to backup ended with him tripping. He hit the ground hard. The alligator reacted by pushing up higher on it's front feet, his long snout opened defensively, showing lots of big, yellow teeth.

"Sam!"

Without thinking, Sam reacted. He was on his feet in an instant, waving his arms over his head. The gator retreated instantly and rushed into the nearby water with huge splash. Sam wasted no time leaping to his brother's side, lifting him to his feet and shouldering one arm.

Both brothers left the alligator-infested swamp at a fast walk. Adrenaline gave them both massive amounts of energy. Sam looked over his shoulder every couple of steps, to be sure they weren't being followed.

After a time, Sam slowed. Dean was practically wheezing, trying to keep up and fading fast. Seeing a 'real' log this time, Sam herded his brother over and sat him down. Shakily, Sam sat beside him. Reaching behind his brother, he unzipped the daypack and took out the last filled water bottle.

"I don't want to do that again," Sam muttered, handing Dean the water. Dean unscrewed the cap and took a big gulp and handed it back. Sam followed.

"I don't remember looking at a swamp on the map yesterday," Dean said, rubbing his face tiredly.

"I think its Tate's Hell." Sam considered reminding Dean that he had poison ivy hands, but decided the damage was already done.

"I saw that on the map. Didn't realize it was a swamp." Dean grabbed the water bottle and took another drink, making the plastic crinkle. "Why is it called Tate's Hell? The alligators?"

"No." Sam waved off Dean's offer of a second drink of water. His brother needed it more than he did.

"Local legend goes that 45 year old Cebe Tate went into the swamp hunting a panther who had been killing his livestock, with his two dogs." Sam started the story with that story tone of his. Dean rather liked Sam's stories, especially when he could interrupt.

"Wait. The panther killed his dogs?" Dean really was confused.

"No. The panther killed the livestock. He went hunting with two dogs," Sam drawled.

"Hunting panthers is illegal." Dean wondered just how big a panther might get. Bigger than the alligator?

"Not in 1875."

"Your story telling sucks. You're leaving stuff out."

"Do you want to hear to rest, or not," Sam asked irritated.

Dean made a locking motion on his lips and tossed an imaginary key over his shoulder.

"As I was saying, Cebe Tate went into the swamp. Long story short, he got snake-bit and got lost."

"See! I told you the snakes were deadly around here!"

"Can you just shut the hell up for a minute?" Sam gave Dean a pointed look.

"Fine."

"The snake bite made Tate delirious and he wandered the swamp lost. A couple of days later, he was found by two men. When they asked what happened, he told them 'My name is Tate, and I've just been to hell'. Then he dropped dead at their feet. From then on, the swamp was called Tate's Hell."

"What happened to the dogs?"

"Don't know. It wasn't part of the legend."

"Did he get the panther?"

"How the hell would I know?"

"Well, you seem to know just about everything. Inquiring minds want to know." Dean actually did want to know. He made a mental image to look up Tate's Hell when, if, they got back.

Sam groaned. "If I wasn't so tired, I would think of something snappy to say back." Dean just grinned.

The sun was lowering in the sky, cooling the air from 'broil' to merely 'bake. Sam arched his weary back, cracking the spine. He was the kind of tired where he'd rather be hit by a car, than take another step.

"Is that a road over there?" Dean asked.

Sure enough, not a hundred yards away, a sandy, dirt road cut through the land. It was the kind of road bicyclist called double-track.

Both boys lumbered to their feet and made their way to the road. Sam took most of Dean's weight, practically lifting him over fallen branches the last few feet. Once there, fresh tire tracks marked the white sand surface.

"Which way?" Dean asked. "How far out are we?"

"Maybe five miles," Sam replied. What he didn't say was whether it was five miles to the right, or five miles to the left. He really didn't know.

"I don't think I can make five miles," Dean sighed. "What are our chances that a car full of buxom babes will come by and give us a lift?"

"Zero."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Dean yammered on, pointing down the road, but Sam had stopped paying attention.

Something was _moving_, crawling up inside of his jeans. Horrified, Sam let go of Dean's arm and slapped at the inside of his thigh.

Dean stumbled back jarring his leg, but kept on his feet. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked angrily. "Are you not listening to me?"

Blind panic took over Sam's brain. Later, he would conclude he was suffering from mild sunstroke. Whatever it was, inside Sam's pants, didn't seem to be phased by the blows. In fact, the more Sam slapped at the moving bulge, the faster it ascended.

"Something is crawling up my leg," Sam whined in a high-pitched voice. Spiders, millipedes, scorpions, and those big-assed cockroaches, like the one he pulverized with his boot last night, all flashed through his overheated brain. Sam could _feel _the clutching insect claws, just digging into the tender flesh of him inner thigh. His skin crawled at the sensation. He just couldn' stand it. Sam bashed at the bulge with even more fury.

"Take your pants off, Sam. Just shake it out," Dean advised, waving both arms frantically in the air. "Just make it quick, we have company."

Sam didn't hear Dean. Didn't see what Dean was waving at. All of Sam's world shrunk to a creeping, two-inch section of blue jeans.

After dancing around in circles slapping at his leg, Sam gave a mighty cry and slammed his fist down on the mound. He pulverized the lump right into his leg. Then, with shaking fingers, he pulled the now mushy wad away from his skin, as far as the cloth would allow. And then he squeezed. Pulpy, wet stuff oozed down his leg.

Whatever it was, it was dead.

Relief was only momentary as Sam became instantly grossed-out with what he'd done. Frantically, he unbuckled his belt and started pulling down his pants. Dropping to the ground, he shimmied out of the jeans, yanking them over his boots. Once off, he shook the pant legs vigorously. A large mangled, used-to-be-brown grasshopper fell out. It twitched reflexively, laying on the road. Sam recoiled.

_Clap clap clap clap clap clap..._

Sam looked up to the thundering applause, sitting in his tired blue boxes on that sandy dirt road. Sam clutched his now empty pants and stared, wide-eyed at Dean.

His brother was grinning, ear to ear, while leaning against a black, mud-spattered, four-wheel drive pickup truck. Inside the truck, a tanned and long-haired blonde beauty leaned out the driver's side window laughing. Across the roof, a second blonde was sitting in the passenger side window, filming Sam with her Smartphone.

"Sammy, meet Rachel and Ashley. They are going to give us a ride to Carrabelle."

tbc...

_AN: Rachel and Ashley are completely fictitious. Tate's Hell is not. It's just outside of Carrabelle, Florida in the Apalachicola National Forest. Carrabelle is known for having the world's smallest police station. If you are prone on looking things up, like I am, also check out some recordings of bull alligator sounds. _

_I hope you are enjoying the story. __Drop me a line let me know__. Thanks! Surplus _


	4. Pickup Truck Detours

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1

A_N: Believe it, or not. I'm actually going somewhere with the story. If you want to think ahead, you can look up legends of North Florida. Turns out, there's a lot of spooky stuff out there!_

_Thanks for reading ~ Surplus_

**Pickup Truck Detours**

Sam wasn't sure quite how it happened, but here he was, sitting in the ridge-bottomed, open-air bed of a black pickup truck, driven by two buxom blondes with a box of Lab-Rottweiler mix puppies on his lap.

Correction, one puppy in the box. The other four other had climbed out and were crawling their way up his chest, licking happily as they went. Sam couldn't help but smile. Puppies! Scooping the one still in the box, Sam pushed the cardboard aside and gathered all five squirming, nipping, happy creatures into his long arms. This ride wouldn't last long and he was going to enjoy it. Sam tilted his body so the wind cascading through the truck bed caught the puppies' small ears and made them flap.

"Havin' fun there, Sam?"

Sam looked over to his brother. Dean was actually grinning at him, having taken time out from flirting with the blondes, Rachel and Ashley. Dean had taken shelter away from the wind by leaning against the back of the truck cab. Moments into the ride, the sliding rear window opened and the eye-batting had begun. Sam returned Dean's question with a lopsided grin. Dean nodded and returned his attention to the window where Ashley was twirling her long, blonde hair around one finger.

"Doctor," Sam yelled over the rush of wind, suddenly remembering the real reason they needed a lift. "Are they taking us to a doctor?" Puppy number three took advantage of his open mouth to stick one paw in it reaching to bite on Sam's blowing hair. Puppy number one leapt from Sam's lap clumsily trying to reach Dean. Puppy number four decided to lie curled up in his lap and settled in for a nap. Puppies two and five were wiggling frantically, trying to escape.

Puppy number one missed Dean's lap and sprawled across Dean's thigh getting the man's attention. With a twitch of annoyance, Dean picked the pup up by the scruff and handed him over to Sam with a grimace. The puppy responded to that treatment by yapping. The other puppies joined in. It was amazingly loud.

"What'd you say?" Dean asked scooting closer. He couldn't hear over the puppy noises.

"Doctor?" Sam asked again pointing at his bloody, bandaged leg. He started shushing the puppy chorus, not that they listened.

"No doctor in town," Dean hollered, giving the puppies a vile look. "Closest one is Tallahassee, but Rachel says that her uncle tends to treat the locals, when they don't want to go to town."

"Physician Assistant?" Sam resorted to distraction. He manipulated the tail of one puppy into the mouth of another. The puppies obliged and started a war. The rest stopped barking and joined in.

"No. I think he was a medic in the war."

"Afghanistan?"

"No, Korea."

"Great." He meant 'great' in a bad way, not a good way. Sam frowned. Korea was a long time ago. The man had to be pushing 75, at the least.

Of course, Dean took the 'great' as an affirmation. He gave a 'thumbs up', which he then used to push away puppy number five, who had lost interest in the melee and took an interest in his bloody leg. Puppy number five happily wandered away to squat and pee at the end of the truck bed. Both Winchesters looked in horror, visually tracing the ridge groove back up to see which of them might get an impromptu wetting, if the truck moved just right.

Dean appeared to be the winner. He glowered at Sam, unhappily. There was an unspoken warning of what would happen if the puddle migrated. As if on cue, the truck turned sharply and went down a long, bumpy dirt driveway. Sam, Dean and five startled pups bounced around the back of the truck like popcorn.

As quickly as the bouncing began, it stopped leaving them all breathless. The truck had suddenly stopped. One of the blondes, Rachel, Sam thought, looked at them over the back gate.

"Oh, no! Are you alright?" she cried, smiling at Dean. She didn't look one bit sorry.

Dean just gave a weak grin and tried to sit himself back up. "Peachy. Got a towel? Cujo there leaked." Dean pointed at the pee puddle that had spread over several of the grooves.

Rachel giggled. "I'll see what I can do."

Sam had corralled the puppies at this point and shoved the lot back into the box. Shakily, he knee-walked/limped over to Dean and started checking bandages. No new blood. That was good. "Why did we stop?"

"Got to drop off two of the pups. We were delivering these bad boys, when we found you." Sam got a smile, too. "Can you hand me the box?"

Since Dean appeared to be no worse for the wear, Sam chivalrously picked up the box and slid over the side of the truck bed. Rachel pointed to the ground. "Just let them out here."

No sooner than Sam had set the box down, two little blonde-haired boys came racing out of the house. The one slightly behind grabbed the back of the shirt of his brother and yank him back to get to the box first. Undaunted, the yanked brother put on a burst of speed and tackled other. The two boys went down in a pile much like the puppies in the box, thumping each other.

"Daryl! Merle! If you two don't stop, not one of you will get a pup!" Ashley came out of the truck scolding, while finishing something on her phone as she walked.

"He started it!" Each boy pointed at the other, both equally dirty. Sam had to smile. The two boys reminded him of his own childhood at Bobby's house.

"Enough! Not another word, or I'll change my mind." Ashley held her phone up high, moving it around a little. Once she found her coverage spot, she held the phone steady while she frowned at the two youngsters.

Both boys climbed to their feet and looked bashful. The youngest one was missing both of his front teeth judging by his ability to stick his tongue through the gap.

"Excuse the heathens," Ashley said to Sam, giving him a long, assessing look. To the boys, she merely said, "Go ahead." Glancing at her phone, she smirked at Sam and tucked the phone into her hip pocket.

The boys launched themselves at the box, pulling out puppies, one by one. Sam felt a pang of jealousy. He always wanted a dog.

Rachel came up behind the boys and pinched both of their shoulders hard. "Just remember, I'll be watching to make sure you take care of them properly." She dropped her grip to make a slashing motion across her throat.

"Ashley tells me you boys had a run in with some misfortune."

Sam turned to see a woman bearing drinks on a tray. She was short with long, brown hair dangling in a ponytail. Sam could see a family resemblance to Ashley. She was an attractive woman in her early forties. Very attractive.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied. "My brother fell into an animal trap while hiking in the forest." He gave her is best 'we are totally harmless, please let us have whatever you have in the pitcher' smile.

"Is he okay?" she asked. "Rachel, can you drop the gate?"

"Sure thing, Aunt Bobby." Rachel dropped the tailgate with a bang, revealing Dean still in the bed of the truck.

"Howdy," he said with a little wave. "I'm Dean, the one who fell in the trap."

"So you are," Aunt Bobby said setting down the tray. "That leg looks terrible from here. What kind of trap did you fall into?" She poured a tall glass of something dark brown. "Sweet tea?" she asked.

"Oh God, yes." Dean reached forward to take the glass from 'Aunt Bobby's' outstretched hand. He grimaced when the reach jostled his leg.

"Maybe you need to come inside and let me take a look," she ventured, looking at the leg doubtfully. "We're far enough from any real hospital that I've picked up a few things."

"Thank you, ma'am," Sam smiled warily, "But we'd better back to our car." At that moment, Sam's stomach growled loudly.

Aunt Bobby took a step back and gave both Sam and Dean an appraising look. "I'll feed you both lunch," she offered.

"Awesome."

The inside of the house was eclectic, to say the least. The walls were painted in vibrant colors, depending on the room, and covered in odd bits and bobs of artwork and memorabilia.

"We travel a lot," was all Aunt Bobby said. Sam counted at least four protection symbols displayed in an artsy way. He wondered how they got there.

"Brace yourself, this won't feel good."

Dean did just that. He gripped the edge of the porcelain tub as best he could, while the woman cut loose the makeshift bandage and used the shower head sprayer to loosen the dried blood. Dean had to approve of 'Aunt Bobby's' methods. With zero fuss, she had him sitting on the edge of bathtub in a decent sized family bathroom. Dean could see soap, shampoo, conditioner, pink ladies' razors and a tub of half-drowned green army men. Something for each member of the family. He idly wondered what black orchid and juniper body wash might smell like.

"Egad, this is ugly," she said almost gleefully. "You'll be charming the girls telling stories how you got them for years." She motioned to Sam to peel off the remaining layers. "What kind of animal trap? This here looks like barbed wire, but these look like teeth gotcha."

"We don't really know," Sam hedged. "It's not like anything we've seen before. If it hadn't been camouflaged on the path, I would have called it a construction midden pile." Sam craned his neck in the small space, getting a good look. Fortunately, only a couple of the cuts needed stitches. The ripped flesh did not show signs of infection. Even better.

"It was definitely a trap. I could hear a mechanism spring when I tripped into it." Dean casually picked up the body wash bottle and flipped the lid. Black orchids and juniper smelled exoctic. Behind him Ashley giggled. He gave her a killer smile as she took the bottle from him.

"That's mine," she said, holding out one arm, her smile was mischievous. "Wanna smell?"

Dean was about to do just that when Aunt Bobby turned the shower nozzle full force on his leg. Stinging pain shot through skin and muscle as he got the message. Inviting blonde daughters were off limits.

"I know who did it," came a younger voice. "Uncle Rudy did it. Uncle Rudy is crazy." Suddenly, a puppy appeared in his lap. "Cujo wants to see."

One of the boys, Dean didn't know which, had wormed his way into the center of the people pile. He was staring at Dean's train-wreck of a leg with open admiration, as only a little boy could.

"Named him Cujo, huh?" Dean asked, just a little amused. "Which one are you?"

"Nope, you did. I just liked the name. I'm Merle," Merle said with a smile. He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "Don't tell my mom, but Rudy let me see that movie. It was awesome."

"I think it's a stupid name." The other boy, Daryl, pushed his way through. He was wearing his puppy in his shirt. Dean could see the puppy had fallen asleep with his head hanging out the stretched-out neck hole.

"What did you name your dog?" Dean asked curious. He could hear Sam and Aunt Bobby debating stitches versus butterfly bandages, but he trusted his brother to handle that part.

"Disney World!" Exclaimed the gap toothed boy with a wide smile.

"That's just dumb," Merle complained. "Can you imagine how that's gonna sound hollered out the back door? _Here, Disney World. Come 'on, Disney World. Time for dinner, Disney World_," Merle teased.

Daryl gritted his teeth and kicked his brother's shin as hard as he could, which wasn't that hard considering he was wearing flip-flop shoes. That woke Disney World, the pup, who slid out of Daryl's shirt and slickly into the bottom of the wet tub. Cujo leapt on Disney World from Dean's lap. Merle pounced on Daryl. Chaos ensued.

When the smoke cleared, the brother's found themselves sitting around a table feasting on pimento cheese sandwiches and bowls of bean and sausage soup. There was a Tupperware bowl filled with grapes and cantaloupe and another container packed with brownies. Everything was homemade and delicious, even the bread.

"Ms. Bowden, thank you for lunch. This is far better than we are used to," Sam said gratefully. "Merle mentioned an Uncle Rudy. Who is that?"

Aunt Bobby shooed the boys off to walk Cujo and Disney World and settled back down at the table opening the brownies. They were dark and thick and full of chocolate chips and pecans. Dean made little orgasmic sounds as he ate one, while Ashley and Rachel watched with rapt attention. Aunt Bobby laughed and shoved the container toward Dean.

"I'll pack you some when you leave," she promised. "Rudy Grimes is one of my husband's distant relatives. He's off his rocker if you ask me. Rudy sees monsters and aliens everywhere. He's probably the one that set that animal trap."

"What was he trying to catch?" Sam asked snagging another brownie. He'd never embarrass himself like Dean was presently doing for the girls benefit, but these brownies were amazing.

"Skunk Apes. Moth men. North Port Devil. Everything. Nothing. He's a loon," she concluded refilling everyone's glass with more tea.

"Uncle Rudy's the one that painted all of those unusual symbols," Ashley ventured, gesturing at some of the more arcane artwork. "He made all of us jewelry, too. He gets really mad if he finds us not wearing it. Luckily, it's all really pretty." Ashley and Rachel both pulled out necklaces with powerful Muskogean symbols for protection, beautifully wrought in gold. Sam made admiring noises, while trying hard not to look down the obvious low-cut fronts of the girl's shirts. Dean had no such compunction to avert his eyes. Aunt Bobby quickly intervened.

"You can ask him yourself," she stating picking up dishes. "He's the best thing we have around here to a medic. He can even x ray that leg and see if it's broken."

"Awesome," Dean said. "Let's go see crazy Uncle Rudy."

_tbc..._

_**AN:** Can you catch the FSU reference? I usually not so clever as I think I am! _

_I hope you are all enjoying the story. Please drop me a line and let me know. Reading reviews is like eating really good brownies. Thanks! Surplus_


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